hed. He held his breath while Conley fixed his deep eyes on him
for a moment, but Conley went by, and once more he was safe.

The old lady trotted briskly along. They passed a few people who stared
at them, but Mark was thinking. "This is 2021," he observed. "You're
eighty-one years old. You must know all about things."

"I'm quite spry," she pointed out, "though I must say I am working up a
sweat right now. No, no--" She pushed Mark back into the chair. "It's
good for me. Don't get enough exercise any more. Now you just sit there.
You're in a bad way. Anybody who'd fall for such a phony act and release
thirty-five thousand points without even an argument--well, of course,"
she said archly, "I do have a well-turned ankle."

But the enormity of Mark's debit with Central when the old lady should
turn in his slip, began to worry him. He wondered if he could get it
back from her. He wasn't happy with the world, and things were all
wrong, and all that, but still--well, he did have to live in it.
Thirty-five thousand points. He began to worry. He wished he knew what
the penalty would be. He wondered if the old lady knew. What were these
points all about anyway? "You must know," he said, "how the world got
into this mess."

She chuckled, "For thirty-five thousand points, I guess you've got a
right to the story." She turned into the archway of a standard type B
apartment house.

He wondered what she would do with all those points. What did anybody do
with them? Everybody had about the same living quarters. Food was
furnished by automatic vendors at the Hydroponic Farms. Clothes were
provided, ready-made; all you had to do was put your credit card in a
machine, punch the buttons for your measurements, and a suit would drop
down the chute.

Mark got out of the chair and helped her inside with it. He took off his
hat and started uncertainly to leave, but she put her hand on his arm,
"No, no. Have supper with me. I'll tell you all about everything. Glad
to. There aren't many who want to know about things any more."

Her apartment was neat and clean. It was hard for Mark to connect it
with an old woman shrieking points at him. "My name's Pearl.
Point-Plus-Pearlie, they call me. But my real name's Penelope. You can
call me Penelope."

"Thank you," Mark said gravely, and sat down. Penelope bustled into an
apron and began pulling packages from the freezer. "We'll have a feed,
you and I--a real feed." She chuckled pleasantly. "